Part 1
I was born on October 23, 1995. I was born to Edith and Mitch Millner, as the second child in the house, and the first they had together. My older sister (by five years and six days), Elizabeth, was a result of my mother’s first marriage to Steve Harrington. My mother and Steve fell in love when my mother was in her early twenties and he, in his late. From what I have gathered over years I can tell that their love was special. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. When Elizabeth was two, and my mom was 24 (I believe), Steve Harrington passed away in the middle of the night, lying next to my mother, in their bed. Being the strong independent woman she is and had to be, Edith Harrington (at the time) packed up her two-year-old and her life in home state Louisiana and moved to Mississippi for a job opportunity. I feel it is important to mention that my mother was saved at the age of 15 and has been deeply religious ever since (southern Baptist). She instilled in us core Christian values and upheld all the Bible’s teachings as a perfect example for us (her kids) and everyone around her. 189Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzO4a2z5Iw8
The job opportunity was paint repair on vehicles (aka touch-ups). Basically, she was trained to precisely match paint colors and use painting techniques to seamlessly fix chips and/or scratches on pre-owned dealership vehicles. Once in the car business she met my biological father, Mitch, a used car salesman. They got married, and bought a house in small town Mississippi. At some point, either before or after my birth, my father began to use drugs again, cocaine specifically. Before being married to my mother, my father had also been previously married. However, unlike my mother, my father’s first marriage ended in divorce due to his drug addiction. He had two sons from this marriage (who I never even knew existed until one of them contacted me via facebook when I was in the 5th or 6th grade). 189Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOg4wMURyaU
What I remember of my young childhood is spotty. Some memories I have are so vivid and clear I can close my eyes and feel like I’m there. Other memories are just short instances or fading images. Sometimes I think I know more than I can remember; like some memories are there I just can’t access them. I will write what I know. My younger brother, Paul, was born (5 years and six days after me). Although I am not exactly sure when my father’s slip back into drugs began, I am fairly certain that by the time my brother was born things were getting, if not already, bad. From my first accounts, as a small child, I loved my father. I think that I was and would have been a daddy’s girl (I just threw up. That’s the equivalent to me saying I’ve always secretly harbored the desire to be a cheerleader *cringe face). I remember waking up super early in the morning, just me and him to make coffee. I remember him calling me honeybun and sug (short for sugar) and singing to me at night. I remember sitting in his lap. 189Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbM5pMpkSWD
The older I got the worse off he got. In later memories I can only remember the bad about my father. I can remember all these short burst but have no idea as to any kind of chronological order they might go in. I can say that all of the forthcoming recollections happened while living in the small-town house between the years of 1999 and 2003 approximately. Also, my father was in and out of living at home with us; there sometimes, gone sometimes. Now for what I recall.. There was the time my mom woke me up out of bed, along with my sister, (possibly my brother) and we snuck out of our house in, what felt like the middle of the night. I remember being scared. I remember seeing my father asleep (passed out) on the couch knowing something was wrong but not what. Another time, I remember watching with my sister on the stairs as my parents got into a heated argument. I remember running from our perch on the stairs after I saw my father hit my mother in the face and yank her so hard that the strap and button on her overalls broke. I remember being locked in my room, on punishment, for 2 whole days only being able to leave to use the bathroom, my mom was allowed to bring food to and from my door. I remember going with my dad one night to a strange apartment, where he put me on the couch in front of the tv and told me to “watch and don’t move” of course I moved. I went to find him. I found him in a bedroom, with the door open, laying on a bed. When he saw me he jumped and covered up halfway with a bed sheet. I didn’t know he was trying to hide anything but I could tell I wasn’t supposed to be there, that he didn’t want me there. So I went and sat in front of the tv, wondering what my dad was doing back there. When we left he told me not to tell mom about being there, and I never did. That same apartment complex, a little later is where my most vivid memory during this time took place. One night, when I was 5 years old (keep that in mind), around Christmas time my dad and I went out just the two of us. I’m not sure for what reason we originally went out for but on our way home we stopped at the same apartment complex, except this time, I wasn’t allowed to come in. I sat alone in the dark van, in the cold, for what felt like forever to me. I started thinking something happened to my dad. The longer I waited the more afraid I became. Since I knew my way home from the apartment complex, I decided to just walk. I remember the road being more scary than the dark in the van. I walked for a little bit picturing my entire route home and how I would make it there, when I saw a cop car coming down the road. I thought, as he got closer that he might stop and pick me up, but he didn’t so I kept going. Right after he passed, I had to stop just before a neighborhood entrance because I saw a car about to pull out. Apparently, the car saw me too. The driver of the car stopped at the entrance before pulling out onto the main road to roll down their window and wave me over. I was scared to walk over to the car window, but I didn’t know what else to do, so I went. The lady driving the car said, “I can’t believe that cop just passed right by you!” That’s the first thing that I heard her say and for some reason it made me feel like I could trust her, so I got in her car. I told the lady that I could give her directions to my house if she would just take me there, we weren’t far. She said she would but that in the meantime she wanted to call my mom. I gave her my mom’s number. I don’t remember what she said to her on the phone or much of the drive but I remember seeing my mom run down the street, not even waiting for the car to get to our driveway before she had me out and in her arms. I was so happy to see my mom, to be home. I feel like nothing was the same after that night. My mom kicked my dad out for good, and filed for divorce shortly after. I started being afraid of everything and nervous all the time: being left alone (even sleeping alone), bad weather, elevators, the dark etc. 189Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4H4tOmDzip
For a while it was just my mom, my sister, my brother, and me. In my opinion those were the best times. We were flat broke. My mom was working, paying bills, rising three kids, and homeschooling Elizabeth and I, by herself. We four of us did everything together and my mom made everything we did fun. Then along comes Barry Major. Seemingly out of nowhere to me, this man shows up at my house. From the time I first laid eyes on him I didn’t like him, at the time it was more akin to something along the lines of hate. Oh and I made my feelings clear through words and action. When I couldn’t get my mom to listen to me and stop seeing this dude I decided to take matters into my own hands and pull pranks I’d seen in some movies to scare him off. I’d leave food in his fancy cars or drop gum so he’d step on it. One of my more devious schemes was that I put a couple of our dog’s newborn puppies in his car for a little while so they’d pee everywhere. But to no avail, after 8 months of dating my mom and Barry Major were married.189Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwV54GLjPby
Drastic changes happened next. Right after mom and Barry were married, we moved into his house (which was smaller than ours – Paul and I had to share a room). Shortly after the move we were enrolled in Christian private school, our first real school ever. We went from being dirt poor to what I thought was big money, fast. Buying my affection seemed the easiest, quickest way to do it, so Barry tried (he’s still trying, it’s still not working). I felt lost here. It became clear to me that what I wanted or preferred was of no consequence to anyone. I couldn’t control who my mom brought into our lives, or where we lived, or went to church or school. I was there to exist. We didn’t live at Barry’s house long after he married my mom. One day while Barry (a manager at a used car dealership) was at work and mom was visiting him at work, us kids were home alone. I was in my room talking on the phone to my best friend, Jessi, when I hear Elizabeth yell “FIRE! FIRE!” from down the hall in her room. We tried to put out the fire with small vases we had in our bathroom but when we realized that the flames were too big we grabbed Paul and ran. The fire was contained upstairs and only totally destroyed Grace’s bedroom and everything in it. I remember standing outside the house next to my sister and brother watching the flames rise through the windows in our house before the heat busted them out. A neighbor came outside and took us in their house to wait on our parents and the fire department. We moved shortly after that.
